


Of Strays and Gays: Kent Parson's Guide to Cats and Coming Out

by Pugglemuggle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (preferably in someplace tropical), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cats, Coming Out, Dumb boys being dumb, Fluff, Gen, Instagram, Just Add Kittens, Kent Adopts a Cat, Kent Has Supportive Friends, Kent Parson is Obsessed with Social Media, Kent is Gay, Kent's Publicist Needs a Break, Kit Purrson - Freeform, Kittens, Las Vegas Aces, National Hockey League, Social Media, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pugglemuggle/pseuds/Pugglemuggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, how a cat, the internet, and a mob of small children helped Kent Parson tell the world the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Strays and Gays: Kent Parson's Guide to Cats and Coming Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [septicwheelbarrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/septicwheelbarrow/gifts).



> This was written as a part of the 2016 Kent Parson Fourth of July Birthday Bash Fic Exchange as a gift for [septicwheelbarrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/septicwheelbarrow/).
> 
> I have to say, I was a little wary about writing Kent Parson, but in the end this was a lot of fun! Who would have thought that a Kent Parson-centric fic would be the first one I ever post in the Check Please fandom? Certainly not me.
> 
> Hope you like it! Sorry I couldn't fill the crossover you requested, I'll admit I've never actually seen The Social Network.... ^^''' I heard it's really good though!!

Kent’s apartment was huge. And empty.

He’d had an interior designer pick out most of the furnishings, but she’d gone with this modern, minimalist style that left most of the walls and floor completely bare. It looked nice, he guessed. But he felt like he was walking into hotel or a museum or a magazine ad every time he came home.

“You should get a cat,” Curly said to him once, shrugging his huge shoulders and running a hand over his dark afro. Kent had been complaining, not for the first time, about how empty his house was. “No house is empty if there’s a cat.”

Kent mostly ignored the idea, because although cats were cute as hell and he fucking loved them, he was a full-time professional hockey player who went on a lot of away game trips. He didn’t have the time to take care of a cat. A cat was never part of his plan.

That was, until some kind of “mix-up” resulted in his charity day/publicity stunt of the month being switched from “peewee open skate” to “animal rescue awareness campaign”.

“Oops,” said Curly when Kent confronted him, because he just _knew_ that it was his fault. “Sorry, Parse. I must have accidentally written your name on the wrong sign-up sheet when I was signing up for the animal rescue thing.”

“There is no sign-up sheet. It’s digital.”

“Oh, well then I accidentally wrote your name on the wrong online document, or whatever.”

“That’s not a thing—”

“See you tomorrow for the kittens!” Curly said. “It’ll be fun, I promise!” Then he left.

That’s how Kent found himself in the humane society, cradling a small black kitten in the crook of his right arm and stroking her fur with his other hand. Her eyes were closed and the purring sound she was making was way too loud to be coming from such a tiny cat.

“Aw, she likes you,” said the volunteer leading their tour of the shelter. “She’s usually really skittish around strangers. You’re the first person I’ve brought in here who’s been able to pet her, let alone hold her.”

The little cat opened her small pink mouth and yawned. It was fucking adorable.

“What’s her name?” Kent asked.

“She doesn’t have one,” the volunteer said. “She was rescued on the street out near West Tompkins Avenue about a month ago. She was really sick when we found her—we think she might have been separated from her mother too early.”

“Near Tompkins Avenue, huh?” Kent said as the kitten wiggled her paws on his forearm. “That’s on the Strip, right? Near the T-Mobile Arena?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Kent gave the volunteer a toothy grin. “Hm…. I’ve been known to spend a little bit of time at the T-Mobile Arena on occasion.”

She laughed. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a new pet, would you? We’ve been trying to find her a home for a while now but she doesn’t seem to be comfortable around most people.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know…” Kent said. “I mean, I love cats, and I had plenty of cats growing up, but I’m away a lot, and—”

“Isn’t there a kid down the hall who could cat-sit for you?” said Curly, coming up beside him. “I’m sure she’d be happy to cat-sit for NHL champion Kent Parson. Probably wouldn’t even have to pay her.”

“I don’t know…” Kent said, but even as he said the words, the tiny kitten was kneading her little paws in the fabric of his shirt, purring louder than before, if that was possible. She snuggled her head further into the space between his arm and chest and sighed.

Shit. Kent was a goner.

_/ ♤ \\_

After some obligatory interview questions and a few close-up pictures of him and his new kitten, Kent was finally able to take her back to his flat. The lack of furniture there luckily meant that his apartment was more or less kitten-proof, but he didn’t have any supplies other than the little carrier and blanket they’d let him take her home in. However, he didn’t want to leave her alone while we went to the pet store, and he wasn’t sure if he could carry her while also getting everything he needed. He decided to call Curly.

“You got me into this mess, Curly,” he said into the phone. “The least you can do is help me pick up this ungodly amount of cat supplies.”

“I didn’t get you into anything,” Curly said defensively. “You going on the humane society awareness tour thing was completely an accident. Absolute random happenstance.”

Kent laughed. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”

“Hey, do you want my help or not, Parse?”

“I see how it is,” Kent said. “How about this: if you don’t help me, I’ll let my cat piss on everything you love.”

“Ooh, harsh,” Curly said. Then, “I’ll be there in five.”

So they piled into Kent’s car and drove to the pet store. At first Kent put the kitten’s carrier on Curly’s lap in the passenger seat, but she started meowing so loudly that Kent put her on his lap instead. Then he spent a small fortune at Petco, buying shit that he wasn’t entirely sure was necessary but that he could afford, so why the hell not? He was glad he called Curly—there was no way he would have been able to cart all the stuff to the car and then up to his apartment by himself.

The kitten seemed to settle in well enough, once he and Curly set up the scratching post, litter box, and water bowl. She was a little wary around Curly at first, staying at least four feet away from him at all times, but after about an hour she ventured close enough to brush up against Curly’s leg.

“She’s pretty fucking cute, isn’t she?” Curly said.

“Of course she’s cute,” Kent replied. “She’s _my_ cat, isn’t she?”

_/ ♤ \\_

He woke up the next morning covered in cat hair with a mouthful of fur. He’d been pretty sure that he’d closed his bedroom door the night before, but maybe not, because somehow the kitten was here on his bed, curled up right next to him on his pillow and making soft little sleeping noises every time she breathed out. He smiled and reached out carefully to grab his phone from the bedside table.

The first text he saw was a link sent to him by his publicist, Rachel. The link lead to an article titled, “Kent Parson adopts a cat, warms the NHL’s collective heart.” He skimmed the article quickly, then sent Rachel back a thumbs-up. Almost instantly, his phone buzzed with another text.

> RACHEL: The video we put on YouTube from the pub-stunt already has 100 thousand views.
> 
> RACHEL: Also, #KitPurrson is trending on Twitter. Nice work!

Kent grinned and immediately opened up Instagram to check if the username “KitPurrson” was taken. Amazingly, it wasn’t. He created an account and pulled up his front-facing camera, taking a selfie with his still-sleeping kitten.

“Hi everyone! I’m Kit!” he captioned the photo when he posted it. “I had a busy day yesterday, I sure am sleepy!”

As soon as the photo was up, he shared it to his own Instagram.

The notifications started flooding in before he even set down his phone.

_/ ♤ \\_

He did start hiring the kid down the hall to cat-sit while he was at away games. Contrary to Curly’s suggestion of exploiting his fame for free child labor, Kent paid her pretty well. They set up a time schedule and he gave her a special entry code to his apartment. When he was out of town she came to visit Kit twice a day to feed her, play with her, and empty her litter box.

He posted again to Kit’s Instagram when he got home from his first roadie since he adopted her. The picture was a selfie of him with a black furry streak all along the left side of the photo. Kit had been too eager to sit still for the shot.

“So excited that Dad’s home! I missed him a lot!” Kent captioned it.

_/ ♤ \\_

He would admit that he began to get a little obsessed with Kit’s Instagram. His teammates chirped him endlessly about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “My cat is cute as hell,” he told them. “Of course I’m going to Instagram her all the time.”

He posted a photo of Kit eating her breakfast—“Yum! Tuna-flavored Friskies! My favorite!”—and another one of her about to pounce on a mouse toy—“Thought it was a real one for a second there…. Fooled again!” One time Kit tore up the armrest of his couch while he was at practice, and he posted a picture of that, too—“I was a little naughty today while Dad was at work. He keeps saying he’s not mad, just disappointed. Parents, am I right?”

He started getting asked about Kit in post-game interviews. One fan even had him sign a printed-out screenshot of one of the Instagram selfies he’d taken with her. He signed the photo as himself before adding a little drawing of a paw print. “That’s Kit’s signature,” he told the fan. She loved it.

The humane society sent him a written thank you note and a box of cat treats. Apparently Kit’s popularity had inspired a lot of other prospective cat owners to adopt kittens of their own from the shelter. Rachel-the-Publicist was having a ball.

“Your cat’s Instagram has more followers than most official NHL team Twitters,” she told him over the phone. “Keep up the good work, kiddo.”

“Hey, don’t thank me,” Kent said. “It’s all Kit.”

_/ ♤ \\_

Curly came over to play Call of Duty on Kent’s new TV on Kit’s two-month adoption-versery. Kent may or may not have marked the date on his calendar.

“I’m just saying, Parse,” Curly said, shoving a handful of cheat-day Cheetos into his mouth, “your cat is too popular. She has more followers than me. That’s totally not fair, bro.”

“Hey, I don’t pick and choose what gets popular online,” he replied. He shot another two enemy soldiers, despite Kit trying to monopolize his attention by lying across his hands and controller. “The internet is fickle as fuck, my friend. It’s unpredictable. It does what it wants.”

“Actually, I dunno man,” Curly said. “Now that I think about it, I feel like I should have known that an Instagram featuring an adorable kitten and a mildly attractive professional hockey player would have taken off.”

“Maybe,” Kent conceded. He shot another soldier, but then Kit batted the controller out of his hand with her paw. “Shit, son of a bitch….”

“Shh, Parse, don’t swear next to the baby,” Curly said, pausing the game and leaning over to pretend to cover Kit’s tiny ears with his hands.

“Ha ha, you’re a fucking riot,” Kent said. He picked up the controller again.

“All I’m saying, man, is that you should try spreading a little bit of that Instagram love my way, yeah?” Curly continued, unpausing the game. “It’s only fair.”

“How come?”

“I dunno, maybe because I’m the reason you got her in the first place?”

“So now you confess to having messed with the charity day signups.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll get you your minute of fame,” Kent said. He took out his phone and nudged Kit onto Curly’s lap, where she immediately set to work scratching at his T-shirt and pants. “Smile at the camera,” Kent said, then snapped the photo.

“Having a fun time with Dad and Uncle Curly!” he captioned it. “Dad’s still my favorite, though.”

_/ ♤ \\_

He took Kit with him on Take Your Child to Work Day, which, okay, he could admit was a little over the top, but Macs, their starting goalie, was absolutely in love with Kit, and he didn’t get to see her that often, so why not? Besides, Curly’s 15-year-old kid sister Amy was always begging to play with Kit, and said 15-year-old kid sister Amy was getting to go to work with her big brother today, so it was a win overall.

All the dads had photoshoots with their kids after practice and Kent insisted that he get a photo with Kit. The photographer rolled her eyes but took the picture all the same. When the photos were put up on the Las Vegas Aces Facebook page, he reposted the photo on Kit’s Instagram—“Family photo with Dad!”

_/ ♤ \\_

“Oh! I almost forgot—I brought a present,” Curly said the next time he came over for their weekly nutritionist-approved pasta dinner. He started rummaging around in his bag.

“Aw, Curly, you shouldn’t have,” Kent said.

“Hah, I didn’t say it was a present for _you_ , Parse,” Curly said. “It’s for my cute-as-fuck little niece.”

Almost as though she knew she was being talked about, Kit trotted around the corner from the kitchen and made a beeline for Curly, brushing up around one of his legs and then the other in a continuous figure-eight.

Kent chuckled. “Alright, then, what’d you get my baby girl?”

Curly grinned, then pulled out the tiniest hockey jersey Kent had ever seen.

“Kit can now be an unofficial member of the Las Vegas Aces,” Curly said. He turned the jersey around so Kent could see the name on the back. “‘Purrson’. I got it personalized.”

“Dude!” Kent exclaimed, and he had to be smiling like an idiot but he honestly didn’t give a shit, because this was _perfect_. “Holy shit! This is fucking adorable, man, shit!”

“You going to Instagram it?” Curly joked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kent said, even though he knew it was a chirp. Hell, this whole gift was a chirp to some degree, but Kent was willing to put up with a year’s worth of teasing if it meant he got to see how _absolutely fucking cute_ Kit was going to look in her new jersey. “Here, will you help me put it on her?”

“God, you’re worse than my aunt. And she knits socks for her dogs,” Curly said, shaking his head. He came over to help anyway though.

Kit seemed mostly okay with wearing the jersey, which was a relief. Kent had been worried that she’d be uncomfortable and try to take it off, but she just sat contentedly, letting Kent and Curly pose her every which way while Kent searched for the perfect picture. He thought he might have gotten the best shot with a photo of her from behind licking her paw, her name clearly visible on the jersey. He started poking through filters.

“You know, your chick-wheeling game would be fucking unstoppable if you brought her along looking like this,” Curly said, playing gently with Kit’s front paw and lifting it up and down, like a handshake. “This little girl’d be a lady _magnet_.”

Kent let out a laugh that was only slightly forced, then stopped. This would be the perfect time, he realized. He’d never come out to a teammate before—not since the Q—but he’d thought about it a lot, and Curly was his friend, had been his friend ever since his first day on the Aces. Kent had been there for Curly when his high school sweetheart had broken up with him the year after they won the cup, and Curly had been there for Kent when Kent’s mom had been in the hospital last year after her car accident. Plus, Kent was pretty sure he remembered Curly saying that his kid sister Amy was gay, and Curly and Amy were pretty close, so while Kent had never specifically discussed LGBT topics with Curly he was pretty certain that he wasn’t some kind of homophobe. He’d never said any of the kinds of things that a couple of Kent’s old teammates from the Q had been known to say, at least.

Kent trusted Curly.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that bro,” Kent said, putting down his phone. He tried to sound casual, but his palms were suddenly sweaty and there was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. “I’m not really…. I’m not the kind of guy who wheels chicks.”

Curly looked up, brows furrowed. “What do you mean, Parse?”

“Uh,” he began, then took a breath. “Chicks aren’t the ones I’m interested in wheeling.”

There was a short silence.

“Whoa, _Kent_ ,” Curly said quietly. “You’re serious?”

Kent nodded, a little more vigorously than was necessary. “Yeah, Brian. I’m serious.”

“Whoa…” Curly repeated. He looked a little shell shocked. “All this time you’ve…. And when we would go…. This explains why you’d…. _Damn_ , and all those times I tried to set you up, shit bro…. I just thought, ‘Maybe he only liked Latina girls’ or some shit. Fuck, I never—”

“So, are we, are we cool?” Kent interrupted, because his heart was beating too fast in his chest and he thought he might explode, or maybe implode, if Curly didn’t stop rambling.

“Oh, shit, yeah bro, of course. Of course we’re cool,” Curly said emphatically. “I’m just really surprised, I guess. Fuck, I’m screwing this up—sorry, bro. I’m not a homophobe or some shit, I promise. I totally support you, okay? And I won’t tell anyone, unless you want me to. You’re my friend, Kent—my best friend. I’ll always have your back.”

Kent nodded, swallowing again. “Thanks, man,” he said, proud that his voice wobbled only a little bit at the end. “It really…. It really means a lot to hear you say that.”

“Of course, man,” Curly said. Kit padded her way across the couch and curled up into a little ball between them, her new jersey hiked up to her forelimbs.

“Enough soap opera moments,” Kent said, scrubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes like he could erase what the last couple minutes had threatened to do to his tear ducts. “I’m, you know—I’m gay, and I have a cat to Instagram.”

“You gonna call yourself ‘Dad’ again?” Curly teased, and God, Kent had never been happier to be chirped in his whole life.

“Fuck yeah I am,” Kent said. He picked up his phone and got to work.

Things were going to be okay.

_/ ♤ \\_

The picture went up on Instagram and was one of the most popular yet. The caption read, “I got the best gift ever from Uncle Curly! I’m so excited! Uncle Curly might be my favorite now—but don’t tell Dad!”

_/ ♤ \\_

The next time they did a charity day, Kent signed up for You Can Play. They had him do an open practice with a preselected group of LGBT kids and teenagers from all over Nevada. He brought Kit with him, along with a set of white knitted booties that Curly’s aunt had made for her. Kent had been worried about Kit’s feet getting too cold if he set her down on the ice.

They structured the charity practice more or less like a standard practice, only all the players were much smaller and more excitable than Kent was used to. He coached a few of the younger kids on their slap shots and let some of the older ones team up on him for a quick three-on-one game. He even put on the goalie pads for a half hour or so and tested himself against them in the net. He sucked, of course, but the kids were having a blast, and so was he. He was amazed when he looked at the clock and the practice was already twenty minutes past its official stop time—he couldn’t believe three and a half hours had passed so quickly.

“I know this gets said a lot, but you really can play,” Kent said to them all at the end as they all sat in front of him on the ice, attentive. A girl in the front was sitting with Kit on her lap. “I’m not saying it’s easy—because it’s not. Everything will make you feel like you have to be something you’re not to make it, that you can’t be yourself and play hockey at the same time. But you can.”

Even as he said it, the words sounded hollow. Here he was, a closeted hockey player, telling a bunch of kids that being who they were wouldn’t affect their prospects, even though it would. God, he was such a hypocrite. He said, “You Can Play,” but why the hell should they believe him? To them, he was just another straight white guy. There wasn’t a single out player in the entire NHL. What proof did these kids have that what Kent said was true?

“A lot of us adults are really dedicated to making this sport a better place for you kids,” he said, and meant it. “Things will look up soon. I promise.”

It was time to call his publicist.

_/ ♤ \\_

During his career, Kent had won his team a Stanley Cup. He had the highest point record in Vegas and one of the highest ever in the whole league. He was the Ace’s captain—an indispensable member of the team. The media kept calling him things like “The Best Scorer the World Has Ever Seen” and “The Golden Boy of Hockey”. He was rich, and his salary was one of the largest west of the Mississippi.

In short, coming out as gay couldn’t put too much of a dent in an already incredibly successful career like his.

Someone always had to be the first. It might as well be him.

_/ ♤ \\_

Against Rachel’s recommendations as a professional publicist, he decided to come out over social media—specifically, Instagram. The post was very carefully crafted, its casual tone edging on flippant, but it took him almost a week to work up the nerve to hit “share”.

It was a photo of him and Kit, lying on the couch in his apartment. “Love is love,” the caption read. “I’m the only girl Dad will ever fall for!”

And then Kent waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He was glued to his phone the whole day, checking every gossip blog, every hockey news site. He tracked the number of likes his photo got, and it wasn’t any higher than the amount he might have expected for an ordinary post. There were a few comments, but none of them were the reactions he was looking for. Most of them seemed to think it was just a joke. A couple of them were confused—“Is Kent Parson endorsing bestiality now?” one said. Kent had thought that what he meant by the post would have been pretty obvious, but apparently not.

Rachel called him at eight that night once it was pretty clear that the general public hadn’t understood that he’d just tried to come out to them with a cat photo. “I can still set up that press conference,” she said, which had been her recommendation from the beginning. “Is Sunday afternoon good?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” Kent said. Once he’d committed to something, he wasn’t the type to back down. “I’ll try again.”

He wasn’t as subtle the second time.

He put his camera on selfie-mode and videoed six seconds of himself lip-syncing Lady Gaga’s “Boys Boys Boys” while lying on his bed with Kit sleeping on his chest. He hoped the lyrics, “Boys, boys, boys: We love them! We love them!” would be enough to clue in the collective populous.

He was wrong, of course. It wasn’t.

The video was posted to his Vine account and nothing happened. It was amazing that not even the celebrity gossip magazines had tried to spin all of this, Kent thought. If Kent so much had a conversation with a woman there were torrents of articles flooding the media for days. He was half-tempted to just make a follow-up tweet or something that said “I’M GAY” in all caps, but his publicist probably wouldn’t appreciate that, so he refrained. Instead, he pulled out the big guns.

In the next sweaty post-workout selfie he put on his Snapchat, he added the caption, “For the gentlemen out there,” followed by a series of winky-faces. Then he posted a few articles onto his Facebook about supporting LGBT athletes. He even made a tweet after the Ace’s next win: “Great game! Boys and WAGs r out partying. Hm, gonna have 2 change the acronym if i start dating someone.”

Somehow, still nothing.

At this point, Kent wasn’t sure if he needed to laugh or slam his head against a table. He wanted to come out, he _did_ , _right fucking now_ , but it was also a little fun, seeing how far he could push the limits of expected heterosexuality. He honestly hadn’t thought it would take this long, but he would admit that he hadn’t exactly been direct, either.

The only people who seemed to even be talking about the possibility of him being gay were on tumblr, which wasn’t exactly surprising since he’d been told that tumblr thought everyone was gay. Kent found a tumblr user who had made a compilation post of all Kent’s different attempts to come out and then added the comment, “Is Parse trying to tell us something???”

“ _Yes,_ ” he wanted to tell tumblr. “Yes, I fucking am.”

Which gave him an idea.

_/ ♤ \\_

“Hi, Kent, what can I do you for?” Rachel asked when she answered the phone. “If you want a press conference I can still—”

“Actually, could you set up an ask-and-answer session thing for me on tumblr?” Kent asked. “I heard that those were a thing.”

There was a long pause. Kent was worried that he had just vocalized Rachel’s worst nightmare.

Finally, he heard a long sigh from the other end of the line. “Fine,” she said. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you owe me some peace and quiet after this, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Kent said, grinning. “I’ll send you a gift basket when this is all over.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she said. “I’m a big fan of Bath and Body Works.”

He made himself a note.

_/ ♤ \\_

“Answer Time with NHL Star Kent Parson!” was what the tumblr banner said. When you clicked the link, it took you to a picture of him and his cat that had been copied from Kit’s Instagram.

“Let’s do this,” Kent said, Rachel on his left side and Curly on his right. Kit sat in his lap, trying to bat his hand away from his laptop’s trackpad. He ignored her and got started.

Some of the questions were light and easy: “What’s your favorite drink?” (Pink Lemonade Smirnoff), “What superpower would you pick?” (Shapeshifting, obviously), and “What’s your favorite TV show?” (Attack on Titan, hands down). He quickly answered several of those first, starting to pick up a rhythm. When he eventually found the question he was really looking for, though, he took his time.

“Can you comment on the state of acceptance in the NHL towards LGBT people?” the question asked. “You Can Play is great, but I feel like there’s a reason there aren’t any out LGBT NHL players yet. I just wondered what you might have to say.”

Kent got to work.

“In short, the acceptance level kind of sucks,” he began. “There are a lot of campaigns and plenty of individual players who support the LGBT community, but the overall atmosphere of the NHL is still pretty oppressive. We have a long way to go.

“In my time playing in the National Hockey League, I’ve been made to feel like my success hinges on my ability to keep who I really am hidden from the public eye. Which is dumb, because my success should be based on how well I play hockey, not whether or not I’m straight. I just came here to score some goals.

“And don’t get me wrong, the media attention and the fame can be fun sometimes, but the media definitely doesn’t make it easy for players who decide to come out. I’m sure there are plenty of others like me who’ve been hiding for years because they’re scared of the backlash they’d get if they went public. Being first is hard, especially for something like this. But someone’s gotta do it, you know?

“To all the fans who support me, I love you guys. You’re awesome.

“To all the fans who are going to say homophobic things and say that they’re ‘disappointed’ or whatever, c’mon. Get over yourself. It’s the 21st century.

“To all the reporters who are going to try to blow this up and turn it into some kind of scandal, please don’t? Like, report the hell out of this, do your job, but don’t overdo it. I know that me saying this won’t make any difference, but my publicist has been through a lot and she deserves a break. Be gentle.

“And to the few NHL players who are going to be even bigger assholes to me now that I’ve come out…. I’m sorry that my gay ass plays better hockey than your straight ass. Go cry about it.”

“And, just to make this very explicitly clear, since apparently my ‘subtle’ hints over the last month haven’t done the trick: I’m gay. I like guys. I am a homosexual.

“Thank you all, your support means a lot. Until next time, Kent Parson.”

Kent let both Curly and Rachel read over it. “Go for it,” Rachel said, making only a few minor edits. “This is long overdue. It’s time.”

“Yeah, I think that’s great,” Curly said. “I’m proud of you, man.”

Kent grinned, giving Kit a gentle pat on the head. She purred and leaned into his touch. Kent put his hand over the trackpad, moved his mouse across the screen, and clicked “post”.

_/ ♤ \\_

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Curly's name didn't actually come from his curly hair—he was on his junior high's curling team and happened to make the mistake of mentioning it to his teammates pretty early on when he was drafted to the Aces. He got chirped so much about it that they eventually just made it his nickname. His real name is Brian Wright. 
> 
> ....I definitely didn't put way too much time into this OC....
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hoped you enjoyed it!


End file.
